Vigilance

by Carolina Mac

  “Same goes for me,” said Lane. “We’re gonna be a great team.”

  “Take tomorrow for personal time,” said Blaine. “Once we’re in the middle of this murder case and on Ewing Thompson’s ass, we might not get a break.”

  “I hear ya, boss,” said Lane. “Could get crazy.”

  Blaine stood at the end of the drive until the boys backed their trucks into the street, then he pressed the button and watched the heavy wrought iron gate clang shut.

  Back inside, he grabbed a mug of coffee and headed into his office to investigate the Churchills to see what made them tick. Was there something the husband was up to that got his wife killed?

  Bartley Churchill was a trucker. He’d started off with his own truck when he was twenty-five and by the time he was fifty-five, he had a fleet of fifty big rigs. Texas Trucking and Logistics. Since his retirement he seemed to be focused on the warehousing aspect and owned huge square footage in most of Austin’s industrial parks as well as in Dallas and Houston.

  Interesting but not particularly life-threatening.

  Sienna Churchill had been a real estate broker for several years, but she’d retired and let her license lapse. Google searches showed her doing all kinds of charity work and fund raising. She had gone to the same high school in north Austin as Catherine Campbell. They’d known each other since they were teenage girls.

  No wonder Cat’s upset.

  He’d spent an hour on the Churchill’s financials when Farrell came in with a Corona in his hand. “You gonna take a break?”

  “Yeah, I’m getting tired.” Blaine accepted the beer and chugged half down. “Thanks for that.”

  “Find anything useful?”

  “Not so much. He’s into warehousing and it seems to be profitable. Their condo is paid for and they have money in the bank.”

  “Maybe she was cheating on him. She was pretty and looked a bit younger than him.”

  “She’s the same age as Cat. They went to high school together.”

  “What’s that? Forty-seven? Forty-Eight?”

  “Uh huh. Close.”

  “Maybe it was a contract,” said Farrell. “Has all the signs of a pro job. Glass cutter, perfect angle, no evidence.”

  “All the appearances of a pro, you’re right about that, but what’s the motive?”

  “Can’t help you there,” said Farrell. “You’re the motive guy.”

  “Was the hit aimed at her, or fucked up on him?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sunday, March 8th.

  Huntsville Prison.

  EWING gathered the crap he’d accumulated over the last five years and stacked it at the end of his bunk. A couple of magazines that his brother had sent him, he’d kept for the ‘how to’ articles. Didn’t need them, in truth, because he’d memorized everything he needed to know.

  He paced the length of his cell to look in the fake fuckin mirror. No gray in his hair and why would there be? He had no fuckin worries. He’d shaved clean this morning in the shower in case he had any close encounters.

  Maybe his brother would fix him up with one of his super fans. All Lou had to do was strum a chord on his guitar and girls would lay down and open their legs. He could pass a couple of those easy lays along to his brother. They were family. Brotherly love.

  “Tomorrow’s the day, Thompson,” said the guard as he shoved his breakfast tray through the slot. “Only three more of these gourmet meals to go.”

  Last day.

  TRAVIS made coffee in his apartment kitchen above the antique store. He sat down at his little drop-leaf table to wait while it brewed and wondered if it was too early to call the District Attorney. He liked Perry Leighton, had guarded him once before when one of the DA’s cases came back to haunt him, but it had been a couple of years earlier. Was Ewing Thompson gonna try something, or was Leighton nervous for no reason? Didn’t matter, it was a job and he was getting paid either way.

  He filled a mug, then gathered up all his laundry and started a load. He might need clean clothes for a few days or maybe longer. If Thompson didn’t do a damn thing, what would be the time frame for him staying at the Leighton’s?

  The washer was running, and he headed back to the kitchen when he heard his phone. Third ring. “Hello, Mr. Leighton. I was going to call a little later.”

  “Just confirming that we’re set for tomorrow morning, Major Bristol. I usually leave the house about eight.”

  “I’ll arrive at your residence at seven forty-five and drive you downtown, sir.”

  “Thank you. Nothing might happen, but I’ve been through something similar before and it was a little nerve wracking.”

  “Yes, sir. It’s better to be prepared.”

  “ARE YOU GONNA be done that shit in time to watch the game with me?” asked Farrell. He slouched down in the chair in front of Blaine’s desk and stared at him.

  “Just a few more minutes. I want to get a feel for where Thompson is going to be in the city so I’m not running around like a howling coyote with his dick up his ass.”

  “He could stay anywhere,” said Farrell.

  “Yeah, but home base and probable whereabouts—that’s what I’m talking about.”

  “Is it scientific shit?”

  “Hell no. It’s common sense. His brother lives in the north end, North Lamar area, and Thompson heads up the house band at T n T Roadhouse downtown.”

  “Is that the brother? The lead for T n T? He’s so goddam good it’s scary.”

  Blaine raised an eyebrow. “He is?”

  “Damn right. We should check it out.”

  “Is there live music on Sunday?”

  “I’ll check,” said Farrell, and looked it up on his phone. He nodded. “Ten till midnight only.”

  “Let’s go get a feel for the brother tonight.”

  Farrell gave his brother a fist bump. “I’m always up for a little entertainment if it includes a couple pitchers of beer.” He stomped out of the office elated that they had a plan.

  Blaine hadn’t typed a stroke before his cell rang and the black cat appeared on his screen. “Cat, are you doing better today?”

  “Not really, sweetie. Such a shock. Any progress?”

  “Working on the background information, but anything you could supply on the Churchills would be a time saver.”

  “Sure, I’m happy to help.”

  “The marriage? Solid or shaky?”

  “Never heard a whisper that it wasn’t solid.”

  “Okay, noted. I’ve checked the finances and I don’t think it’s money related. Churchill is stable.”

  “I saw Sienna two weeks ago and she was excited that they’d bought a cabin in Colorado. Somewhere cool to go in the Texas heat.”

  “Noted. I’ll check it. Umm… Churchill himself, give me the skinny. Nice guy. Mean tempered… what?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he has his moments, but Sienna always raved on about what a thoughtful guy he was. Flowers, dinners, the whole nine yards.” Cat tried to cover a sniffle. “According to Sienna he loved her a lot and treated her like a queen.”

  “Doesn’t appear to be that kind of dude,” said Blaine, “but I always like to hear when somebody is nice to their wife.”

  “I can’t imagine what the motive was, sweetie. What if it was an accident—like they thought she was someone else?”

  “We have to consider that, Cat. Her husband said she had no enemies.”

  “She didn’t, in all the time I’ve known her.”

  “I’m waiting on the lab and the autopsy,” said Blaine.

  “When I find out about the service, will you go with me?”

  “Of course. We’ll want to cover it anyway.”

  He ended the call to Cat when a huge ruckus erupted in the foyer. “Who’s here? I’m not expecting anyone.” Blaine stepped out his office door and his face split into a wide grin. “Misty, you’re home.” He ran down the hall and grabbed her in a hug, the dogs jumping wildly around their legs. Blaine kissed her
and realized how much he had missed her. “I’m so happy you’re back. Stay for dinner.”

  “I can stay for a little while, sweetheart.”

  “Why didn’t you call me to pick you up at the airport?”

  “I knew how busy you are. I took a cab.”

  “Are you feeling better? I always worry about your weak spells when you’re alone.”

  “I’m much better since I’ve been taking the iron Brian prescribed. No need to worry.”

  I always worry.

  “Where’s your luggage?”

  “At home. I went there first, then drove over to get Hoo.”

  “Right, that makes sense. You needed your car. The cabbie might not want him.”

  I’m not used to Misty making any sense at all. Maybe I’m getting to know her better.

  Blaine took her hand and led her into the kitchen. “Come say hi to Carm, she’ll be so happy to see you.”

  AFTER DINNER, Blaine broached the subject of Misty’s antebellum property in New Orleans, the reason she didn’t come home from their vacation when he did. “Did you go to your house and see what needed to be updated, sweetheart?”

  Misty nodded and stared past Blaine towards the window.

  “And? Did you make a list? Where do you want to start?”

  “I’m going to wait until you have time to go back with me,” she whispered.

  “Why? What happened. Did your father yell at you?”

  She nodded. “As soon as I touched the front door handle.”

  “How did he know it was you, if he didn’t open the door?”

  “He knew.”

  “When did your mother move out? You haven’t told me any of this.”

  “Right after Daddy died, we both moved out.”

  Blaine’s heart skipped a beat and he stared into the watery blue eyes. “You’re saying your father is dead?”

  Misty nodded. “But he still lives in the house and I can’t get him out.” She teared up and a couple rolled down her cheeks. “That’s why I can’t go in there to make repairs.”

  “Why didn’t you explain this to me when we were standing in front of the house in New Orleans?”

  “I wasn’t ready, I guess.”

  “Are you ready now to do something about the problem?”

  “I don’t know what can be done. I’m sure, nothing. Once a place is haunted, it doesn’t get unhaunted.”

  I don’t believe in ghosts, but it’s obvious Misty does.

  “Let me think about it,” said Blaine. “In the meantime, how would you feel about going to the T n T for a few drinks and listening to the band?”

  “Is Mary going?” asked Misty.

  “Umm… sure,” said Farrell. “Let me call her.”

  It will look more natural if we have dates.

  “Why are we going out on a Sunday night?” asked Misty.

  “Umm…Farrell thought it would be fun,” said Blaine. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Farrell give him a hand signal.

  “We’re picking Mary up at nine,” said Farrell. “Lots of time if you want to take Hoo home and change or anything, Mist.”

  “I’ll just run home and unpack, feed Hoo and take a shower,” said Misty.”

  “I’ll call you when we’re leaving to pick you up.”

  THE T n T was quiet on a Sunday evening. Blaine was surprised they bothered with a live band there were so few people in the booths when they arrived. But things picked up right before the band started at ten and all the tables were full.

  “Good thing we came early,” said Mary, “Look how packed it is now.”

  “We got a close table,” said Misty. “Is this band good, Farrell?”

  “You won’t believe how fuckin good the lead singer is.”

  “What’s his name?” asked Mary. “Maybe I’ve heard of him.”

  “Lou Thompson,” said Blaine.

  “You know his name?” Misty sounded surprised. “I’ve only heard you talk about one singer and that’s Lukas Nelson and how great he is on the guitar.”

  “Yeah, that’s because I’ll never have the time to practice to ever be that good.” He waved the waitress over and ordered another round.

  The band came out, picked up their instruments and played the warmup song. Instrumental only and the crowd stomped and hollered their approval. After the first set, the band took a break. Lou Thompson set his guitar down, picked up a bottle of water and tipped it up.

  Blaine hopped up and crossed the dance floor to talk to him. “Hey, Lou. Your brother is getting out tomorrow.”

  Lou stared at him. “Who the hell are you?”

  Ewing’s brother looked a lot like him. A younger version of the good looking brown-eyed con. Neither one was too tall. Five ten at most.

  “A concerned citizen.”

  “Fuck off.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen, Lou. I’m gonna have eyes on you and Ewing from the second he steps out of Huntsville.”

  “He’s a free man. You can’t harass him.”

  “I won’t,” said Blaine, “That don’t mean I can’t keep track of him. He staying with you?”

  “None of your business.”

  Blaine grinned. “Wrong. It is my business.”

  “Gotta take a leak before my next set,” snarled Lou.

  “You’re a great singer, Lou. Don’t flush your career for your brother.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  Blaine returned to the table and sat down.

  “You piss him off?” asked Farrell.

  Blaine shrugged. “A little.” He picked up the fresh pitcher and filled his empty glass.

  “I thought you went to tell him how much you liked the band,” said Misty.

  “I did, sweetheart. I told him he was good.”

  “Why did that piss him off?” asked Mary.

  Blaine shrugged. “Can’t say for sure.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Monday, March 9th.

  TRAVIS arrived at the Leighton residence at a quarter to eight, right on schedule and Perry Leighton was ready to roll. Austin’s District Attorney had been watching for Travis out the front window and met him on the brick drive. He seemed calm and relaxed, dressed in a designer suit, leather briefcase under his arm.

  “I’m telling myself this is just another day, Major Bristol. Just another day at the DA’s office.”

  Travis opened the passenger door of his F-450 and gave Leighton a hand up onto the side step. “It will be just another day if we’re careful. Thompson won’t be released until ten, then he’ll have a two hour drive back here—that’s if he’s headed back here at all.”

  “I talked to Warden Wilson on Friday when Blaine gave me the heads-up and he didn’t have an inkling what Thompson’s plans were. Sometimes they have a record of an address the con is going to or a job that’s waiting for them, but there was nothing.

  Maybe that’s the way Thompson wants it.

  “Blacky mentioned a brother. He could be working on that angle.”

  Leighton nodded his head and Travis thought the man had gone completely gray since the last time he’d seen him. “Blaine is thorough and utterly dependable.”

  “Absolutely,” said Travis. “A boss who always has your back.”

  FARRELL parked in his spot at DPS. His mission this morning was to introduce the two new guys to Chief Calhoun and give them a tour of the facility while Jesse and Blaine attended Sienna Churchill’s autopsy. Fletch was tagging along because he hadn’t been assigned a partner yet.

  “Never been inside this building,” said Pablo.

  “You’ll be here a lot,” said Farrell. “We work closely with the Chief and he likes to be in the loop with everything we do.”

  “I don’t understand the set up,” said Lane. “We work for the Blackmore Agency, but the Chief of the Texas Rangers keeps an eye on us?”

  “Keeps us on track,” said Farrell, “and gives us state-wide authority.” To Fletch: “Got the coffee?”

  “Yep, I
’m juggling it.” He had trouble with the door and Farrell opened it and held it.

  Chief Calhoun’s office was small, and Farrell rounded up extra chairs for the four of them. “These are the new guys, Chief.” Farrell pointed. “Here we have Pablo Acosta, Army Ranger up until a month ago, and this big guy is Lane Forget, former Navy Seal.”

  “Welcome. Nice to meet you boys. Blacky sent me your resumes and we’re lucky to have y’all. Lots of good training in both your backgrounds. We’re all about staying alive and keeping each other alive.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Pablo. “One of my main objectives.”

  The Chief took a sip of his coffee then opened the drawer of his desk. “Let’s get y’all deputized and get you some creds so we can put y’all to work.”

  “Blacky gave them to Annie yesterday,” said Farrell. “Both good shooters.”

  The Chief grinned. “How’d you boys measure up against Mrs. Powell?”

  Lane chuckled. “I’ve got work to do, sir. Working on my non-dominant hand.”

  “You’re in a situation,” said the Chief, not cracking a smile. “Shot in your right arm. You change hands and shoot a bird out of a fuckin tree. No second chances.”

  Lane grinned. “Yes, sir. That could happen.”

  “Did you see our Farrell shoot?” asked the Chief. “A bit of a legend here at headquarters. The boys have taken to calling him Dead-Eye Donovan.”

  Farrell held up a hand.

  “I guess I wasn’t watching him,” said Lane. “I’ll take note next time.”

  “Annie taught me and Blacky,” said Farrell.

  “Boss a good shooter?” asked Pablo.

  “Fuck,” said Fletcher and told a long story about gangers in trailers with automatic weapons and how Blacky took them out.

  With official business out of the way, Farrell gave them a tour of the facility.

  BLAINE AND JESSE came away from Sienna Churchill’s autopsy with nothing more than the caliber of the bullet that killed her.

  On the way upstairs, Jesse stopped for a breath and asked, “What if it was the wrong condo?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Blaine, “Like it should have been the next one over, one up or one down?”